


Parasol

by marginaliana



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, France - Freeform, Idiots, M/M, Twitter, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>″You're doing it wrong,″ James said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parasol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kangeiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/gifts).



> For Kangeiko, who prompted 'something with their recent French holiday?'
> 
> [The relevant tweet.](https://twitter.com/MrJamesMay/status/760527831277432832)

″You're doing it wrong,″ James said, but he didn't move other than to raise his glass to his mouth and take another sip. 

″Sod off,″ Jeremy said genially. He had been wrestling with the parasol for fully ten minutes now and did not appear to have tired of the project, though the thing was no closer to fulfilling its role as a sun-shade than it had been before he'd started. 

James didn't particularly mind; the sun was hot, yes, but that only served to make his cool glass of wine all the sweeter. Above them the sky was an endless deep blue, and all he could hear – beyond Jeremy's faint cursing – were the grape vines' hushed whispers, the occasional clear call of some bird or other.

″Wine's getting warm,″ he said eventually, and Jeremy chucked the parasol aside at last; it landed against the wall in a cacophony of clanking. James permitted himself a small smile at the characteristic gesture, and then a larger one as Jeremy flopped down into the seat beside him, huffing out a breath.

James leaned back in the chair and stretched out his leg so that their ankles could touch beneath the table. Jeremy took a large, defiant gulp of wine.

″Heathen,″ James murmured.

″Ponce,″ Jeremy shot back, but there was a twist to his mouth, the kind that James well knew usually presaged a kiss. Too bad they weren't alone enough to indulge – but there would be the hotel later, the large jacuzzi tub in Jeremy's room.

They drank in silence for a while. Eventually Jeremy stood and reached for the bottle; the ice in the bucket rustled wetly as he withdrew it and refilled both their glasses. When he sat down again, he used the movement to shuffle his chair a fraction of an inch closer. His free hand landed on James' thigh. It wasn't even remotely subtle, but he looked so pleased with himself that James didn't have the heart to tell him so. Instead, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the forlorn parasol.

″You're tweeting that, aren't you?″ Jeremy said, resigned.

″Mmhmm.″

Jeremy gave him a sour look, but it melted away when James put his phone back in his pocket and – far more clandestinely – covered Jeremy's hand with his own. He laced their fingers together. ″France is rather nice, I think,″ he said.

″Yes,″ Jeremy said. ″Brilliant. Even if they do have the stupidest parasols in the entire universe.″


End file.
